Freedom
by Dystopiac
Summary: Freedom is never free. Freedom has a price. Unfortunately for Bryan, the price of freedom for him was too great to afford.  And that suited him just fine. The life of Bryan after GRev.


Everything has a price. Even freedom. Such simple things such as the decision to live on their own, have relationships, even bring a child into the world – these were not free. Of course, the price of freedom was dependant on who the person was. For Bryan Kuznetsov, however, freedom was so close and yet still so far away.

Bryan wiped the mist away from the small bathroom mirror and gazed at his reflection. No longer an eighteen year old boy, he was now a twenty eight year old man. Fully grown and standing at 5'11" tall, his features had sharpened over time to reveal a face that was quite good looking. Still pale, he had grey patches around his eyes, eyes such a peculiar shade of blue that they could almost appear lavender. A small scar ran vertically down from the end of his right eyebrow before ending smoothly at the corner of his eye. A wound from his few years he served in the Russian Army.

Ira used to call it his Love Scar. When she would mutter such things to him, her small, slender fingers tracing delicately over it, he would hold her near and smile, her head resting against his shoulder, soft blonde hair tickling his neck. She liked to keep it short. It fitted with her modern, cosmopolitan personality, like the girls in the glossy magazines that she read.

A Love Scar. Received during the Second Chechen War, during his days as a military officer, serving alongside his brothers; Tala, Spencer and the younger Ian.

A Love Scar endured when Ian, in all his enthusiasm, found himself under attack from Guerrilla soldiers and Bryan, in all his cold, quick thinking skill, saved Ian from death at a young age of 21. Five dead Guerrillas, a bullet in each of their heads, and one scar to show for it.

Brotherly love knows no bounds. Ira was so proud of him when he returned home. A four year army career, ended on his behalf because after all, working as a mechanic would guarantee that he would return home to her every night, instead of returning to her in a wooden box covered with the Russian flag. It was a smart decision.

A smart decision..._too late_. Too late for Tala who _did_ return to Katja in a wooden box covered with the Russian flag, and Bryan was there, dressed in uniform, holding his hat, to deliver the news to her, and how she wept. Sinking down to the floor, wavy brunette locks in disarray, mascara running, hands clutched protectively over a bulging stomach. She only had a few more weeks to go. A few more weeks and Tala would have become a father. A few weeks too late.

Tala couldn't afford freedom. So freedom took him back. But at least freedom had the deceny to bury him with full military honour.

He was at the funeral, in uniform once more, alongside Spencer and Ian and their comrades in the army; Nikolai, Alexei, Zhenya, Mikhail and Vanya, and his superior officers. All their old associates were there too, from their days as Beybladers. Tyson and Hilary, holding hands with their heads down; Ray and Mariah; Max and Emily; and Kai Hiwatari. Hiwatari, dressed in his businessman suit, the president of Hiwatari Enterprises. The successful one.

Too successful to care for Tala when they retired from Beyblading after the BEGA fiasco. Too successful to keep in contact with Tala, or with anyone for that matter.

And Bryan caught his eye during the ceremony only once. Bryan frowned, still so distrusting of Kai, still so filled with hatred after all these years. Afterwards, Ira held his hand in her left and Katja's in her right as they watched Tala descend into the ground. So young...and with everything to live for.

Weeks later, Bryan held Ira tight in bed and whispered to her that he never wanted to lose her, never, never, never...

Five years passed and now Ira was gone. Bryan should have seen this coming. He should have...should have _tried_ harder for her. Everyone has a price. All Ira asked for was love, and Bryan tried, oh, how he _tried_ to love her. He could _feel_ something for her. A nine year relationship has to be built on something, right? She was beautiful, the sex was fantastic, and she cared for him, no matter what flaws he possessed, no matter how cold and distant he was with her at times.

In the end he just couldn't drag her down with him. She left.

Everyone has a price. Bryan just couldn't afford Ira. So freedom took Ira away from him.

Freedom handed Bryan a new job after the military. He returned to work as a mechanic, the way he did during his apprenticeship after the BEGA incident. Now he built tanks instead of driving them. Now he wore a grey boiler suit instead of a military uniform. He carried spanners instead of guns. He fixed engines, instead of breaking lives.

He couldn't fix his own life, though.

Against his own will, Bryan thought back to his childhood. Of the days before Biolvolt, before needles and scientists and work, work, work and the constant hunger.

His mother had a price. 1,200* roubles for a good time. Or, as he later found out, one hundred American dollars for her son. One hundred dollars to have her son taken away from her forever by a man named _Boris_ to be subject to a further eight years of torture.

The Abbey. That place was knocked down years ago. The Russian government just couldn't take the shame and ordered for the building to be wiped off the Earth. It didn't wipe away what happened. It couldn't fix all those innocent lives that were ruined.

It couldn't undo what was done. Those dark, bleak times.

Rape was common in the Abbey. The guards raped the young boys. The guards raped the young girls who were there purely for experimental reasons, not to become warriors. The girls were used to see if they could genetically breed the perfect soldier. The boys raped the girls and the older boys raped the younger boys.

Drug use was common. If it wasn't being snuck in by one of the older kids, then it was being brought to them by the guards who believed they were making it just bearable for them by letting them block it all out for an hour or two. Rather they rot their own brains than have the chemicals do it for them.

The Abbey had a price. That price was Tyson Kinomiya and his victory over Tala and over Biolvolt which brought everything crashing down and handed them the ability to buy freedom. Not to have freedom, but to buy it.

Too bad Bryan couldn't afford it.

He could only gaze on and watch as everyone lived out their lives so brightly in colour and Bryan was left in black and white, held back by the damage that the Abbey had done to him.

Bryan moved from the bathroom to the bedroom. His and Ira's. Now just his. He laid eyes on the photos that rested on the chest of drawers. In one; Tala, Bryan, Spencer, Ian and Kai stared back at him, all of them with still faces, none of them smiling. In another; Tala and Bryan wearing grey boiler suits, a spanner in Tala's hand, behind them an old car with the engine removed during their apprenticeship. Another photo showed Tala, Bryan, Spencer and Ian all dressed in military attire stood in front of a tank. There were more photos, each showing more memories; Ira and Bryan, Ira graduating with a degree in journalism, Bryan and Ira standing in front of the Big Ben, the statue of Liberty...a final photo showed Bryan with his arms wrapped protectively around a young girl no older than three with blonde hair like Ira's and Bryan's lilac blue eyes. She was smiling up at Bryan. She was smiling up at her daddy.

When Ira left, she didn't just take her belongings. She took Margo with her, and moved back to Novosibirsk, too far for Bryan to see her on the weekends.

Bryan held the photo close for a moment before placing it back down. He disregarded the towel around his waist and got dressed quickly in a pair of black jeans, and black button down shirt with a black leather jacket over the top and black combat boots. He made sure he had his keys, his smokes, and his happy pills before he left the apartment and made his way to the car outside the building.

He drove in silence, his eyes never leaving the road ahead. The roads in Moscow were always locked in traffic and never moved at a pace faster than walking, but once Bryan made it to the outskirts he was doing well for time. He lit a cigarette and took a deep drag, praying that he'd see Spencer and Ian there too.

He parked, and made his way slowly to his destination, gravel crunching under his boots. All around him, gravestones in a uniform grey stood in rows, marking each Russian life lost in the Chechen war. Tala would hate to think of himself as just another statistic, just another fallen soldier. Tala was much more than that; he had a bright, burning flame about him that made it impossible to ignore him. Unlike Bryan who preferred the solitary existence, to be left alone, _you don't bother me and I don't bother you, pal._

The gravestones all looked the same, all bore the same message on them, but Bryan knew which one he was headed for. He could see them now and they were looking over at him, waiting his arrival.

Spencer and Ian.

Spencer, at a height of 6'2", the proud father of two who left the army with honours to teach, who allowed his blond hair to grow out and now reached his chest, a long blond goatee which had been tied and plaited into two. He, too, wore black for the occasion.

And Ian, still the smallest of the group at 5'6", still with the same unruly hair, still in the army, but no longer a soldier, now a pilot in the Russian air force, and soon to be a father. Ian dressed not in black, but in his uniform out of a mark of respect for his fallen brother, soldier, and comrade.

Bryan greeted both of them warmly for the occasion.

The final member of the group lay below them, marked by the tombstone; Bryan looked down on it and felt a pang of sorrow sweep through him.

_Tala Ivanov_

_1982 – 2004_

_Beloved comrade, brother and father_

_Gone but never forgotten._

Bryan knelt down, ignoring the damp grass seeping through his jeans and ran his fingers over the lettering. Tala was gone, but Bryan would be damned if he ever forgot him. He stood up and the three of them together gazed down at the tombstone, the wind the only sound the echoed, the bare trees blowing in the Winter, the grey sky ahead not sure whether to rain or not.

Here they were again. All four of them; three alive, one asleep. Years may have passed them, but they would always be together. None of them would ever be free. None of them had ever experienced true freedom; always held back by the past, always held back by the pain and the memories.

Freedom has a price. Unfortunately for Bryan, the price of freedom for him to great to afford. And that suited him just fine.

* * *

><p>*1,200 roubles is equivalent to about $50 or £30.<p>

Inspired by Schindler's List theme.

My first fanfic in a loooooooong time. And it had to be something depressing, didn't I?


End file.
